Why Don't We Just Dance? -Sequel to SIB
by Whenrabbitsattack2-0
Summary: Fionna, our favourite New York college student, has been dating the underground indie rocker Marshall-lee for about a month. They always hang out at his because of her roommate, but she hasn't stayed the night yet, much to Marshall's chagrin. But thanks to a little beer, a little bet and some winter weather, I can tell you the story of the first night she does. (Fluff, not smut.)
1. Chapter 1- Satay Chicken

**Author's note: So here it is. The much requested and sort of long awaited sequel to Somewhere In Brooklyn. As I find more songs, there will be more stories but every single one will be themed around a song just like the first one was. I already have a sort of basic plot line fore their relationship though, and a couple of songs, but I need a few to flesh out the middle before I really get into the story. anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it, and be sure to leave a review :)  
**

' So um, just these and can I get a ten dollar vodafone top-up too?'  
' Sure thing, darlin'. That all I can get you?' I rolled my eyes when the cashier winked at me and shook my head.  
' Yes, Simon.' I said pointedly and he laughed as he started tallying up the cost of my groceries. I always came to this place on the way to Marshall's apartment, so I'd started to recognise the workers on shift, and most of them recognised me too. Simon was this sweet, but lonely old man who usually worked stocking in the cold section, and he had a habit of hitting on me that I didn't really mind. I mean, he had figured out by the bottles of cheap wine/ beer and expensive dark chocolate (Expensive for a student.)(Priorities. I have them.) that I inevitably picked up passing through there that I was on my way to someone. Which I was.

' Say hello to the lucky guy for me.' He told me good-naturedly as he passed over the brown paper bag and credit voucher, which I stuffed into the back pocket of my ripped black skinny jeans (they hadn't been ripped when I bought them, I'm just hard on my clothes.) I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him, and he chuckled gruffly as he started sorting my haphazard payment of coins and notes into the register. The bell above the door tinkled as I walked back out onto the street, shivering slightly at the blast of autumnal chill. I started to duck and weave through the crowd, heading to my boyfriend's place.  
We'd been dating for about a month, but we don't really date by going out to places, at least not intentionally. Marshall spent almost everyday out on the street busking or jumping between producers looking for a label he actually likes. So he said he preferred to end they day ' Watching crappy TV with some kind of alcoholic drink in my hand and a sexy girl on my lap.'  
Cheeky little squirt. I'd been kinda surprised when he admitted he was only nineteen, twenty in december. That made me about eighteen months older than him, but he looked about five years older than me 'cause I have such a baby face. Especially with the goatee and the stubble that scratched my cheeks raw when he kissed me. I didn't really mind though. The unkempt, rebellious look suited him. Though I wonder what he would look like if he shaved?

When I didn't have evening classes, I always ended up going to his place, something Cake appreciated enormously. I don't even want to know what she and Mauricio got up to now she doesn't have to worry about me overhearing. She and him had firmly claimed our flat as their couple space, so it was only logical for Marshall and I to use his place. He doesn't have flatmates ( "My mom covers rent payment as a token of affection *insert eye roll*, so that's not an issue. And I don't want to have to re-record a track because there's football or sex noises in the background.") So I could drop in whenever without fear. And though I'll never admit it, I appreciated being able to do that because it meant I knew he wasn't cheating on me. I didn't think he would but y'know, a rising musical star always has crazy groupies. Plus just knowing there was a place I could always go, no matter the reason. A second home, really.

Marshall-lee lived in an apartment block in downtown Manhattan (no wonder his mom payed rent) up on the fifth floor. It was the kind where you had to buzz at the steps to be let in. I pressed the button and waited for him to answer, wiggling my frozen fingers. It was getting really cold now as the sun disappeared behind the skyscrapers and the streets plunged into shadow.  
' Yo, is that who I think it is?' I smiled briefly at the familiar deep baritone voice.  
' If you were thinking the pizza guy, then I'm sorry to disappoint you.' I heard him laugh, the speaker crackling slightly.  
' You're never a disappointment, baby girl. I'm recording right now though, so be quiet 'kay? Door's unlocked.' He told me, before the intercom deadened and I heard the mechanical whine of the main door unlocking. I pushed inside and walked into the elevator, sighing gratefully at how warm the inside proved to be. I put the groceries on the floor of the elevator and took off my red scarf as I rose noiselessly through the building.

When I walked up to his door I could hear a faint beat and a somewhat familiar guitar intro playing, so I went inside as silently as I could and put my brown bag of stuff on the kitchen bench and dumped my thick navy blue jacket on the couch.  
Marshall's apartment was small but it felt larger than it actually was because of the way he spaced things out and also because it had very high celilings. Like all the horizontal space had become vertical instead. It's fairly unadorned and standard at first glance, but look a little closer and you would notice all these hidden details that give away his predisposition for gothic, old fashioned styling. Like the fact that the lights on the walls are converted candle brackets made of elaborately styled iron, or that the central light is only a few additions away from practically being a chandelier. There are band posters all over the walls, and stands for his old guitars in one corner. One whole wall is glass, and the place isn't colourless (He has a red sofa, which is actually pretty uncomfortable. That was why I always stole his blankets and sprawled all over him. He's much comfier) So it simultaneously felt mysterious and complex due to the gothic accents, while still being welcoming and sort of familiar. Kind of like Marshall, honestly. Or maybe that's just me.

I recognised the song Marshall was playing, a cover of a tune that was pretty popular on the radio right now. So I tiptoed over to his studio door and pushed the door open, grateful that it didn't squeak. I'm seriously addicted to watching him play and listening to him sing. He's skilled and graceful in the way he plays, and he has a surprising level of control over his voice. Though that sometimes fell away when he got really into it. I'd nearly cried listening to him picking 'The Freshman' after a bad day. He has that level of charisma and I don't know, some sort of mystical quality that means if he wants you to, you'll believe every single word that leaves that pretty little mouth. That quality better be confined to his singing, though.

'_...I swear I'll behave_

_You wanted control_  
_So we waited_  
_I put on a show_  
_Now we're naked_

_You say I'm a kid_  
_My ego is big_  
_I don't give a shit.'_

He had his back to me, facing the microphone and he was nodding his head in time to the music. I noticed that his hips were shaking slightly to the beat, and I quickly clapped a hand over my mouth before I started giggling. Hehe.

'_ And it goes like this, uh_  
_Take me by the tongue and I'll know you_  
_Kiss me 'till you're drunk and I'll show you_  
_All the Moves Like Jagger_  
_I got the Moves Like Jagger_  
_I got the Mo-oh-oves Like Jagger.'_

I couldn't help but laugh at the subconscious little pelvic thrust he had done when he finished the chorus, giving myself away. Marshall-lee looked over his shoulder and saw me watching, both hands over my mouth but still failing to contain the giggles. He smirked and purposefully wiggled his butt at me, before stopping the recording and pausing the bass track.  
'Sorry, I couldn't help it. You just looked so cute.' I admitted once I could talk. Marshall-lee stuck his tongue out at me then put his hands on my waist and proceeded to put that tongue to good use.  
He was a _brilliant_ kisser. Like, every girl says that about their boyfriend for the sake of competition, but he actually is. Maybe it's a natural talent, or maybe he's just had a lot of practice. He hadn't told me about his romantic history yet, and I hadn't mentioned Tiro to him either.  
It probably wouldn't come up until I agreed to stay the night and I'd have to admit that it would be my first time not just with him but with any guy. Awkward as it would be. (Tiro had pressured me for it, and by the time I was actually willing to give it up he had moved on. I was moving too slow for him, it seems.) Marshall hadn't explicitly asked for sex yet, but he'd asked if I would stay the night a couple times (which was subtle. Not.) and he made it pretty clear that he would be more than happy to move into his bedroom when we're making out. But to be completely honest, I'm actually a little scared. Which is normal I suppose but.. Yeah.

' Cute is a word that is banned when you're describing me. I'm not cute.' He said when he broke away, the spark of warmth and humour clear in his deep brown eyes. In certain lights they turn an almost reddish colour, which is fascinating to watch. It makes him look like some kind of demon, but a sexy one. A succubus.  
' You're so cute.'  
' Rude.' He replied then shut me up by kissing me again.

' So what did you bring this time, eh?' He asked, letting me go and going into the kitchen with me to help put away the food. We took turns cooking when I came over, which he was surprisingly good at. I'm getting better. Not perfect, but on my way. Frequently, my contributions were more of the assemble and enjoy type instead of the made from scratch creations he produced. It literally isn't fair how good he is at everything. Except for applied mathematics, but I ain't holding that one against him.  
' My turn for the rent, so no wine today. Sacrificed that for the sake of chocolate.' Marshall took out the six pack and shrugged, putting it into the fridge.  
' Priorities, baby. Though I appreciate a bottle of red.'  
' Exactly.' I agreed, handing him a block of sixty percent dark. God, I love dark chocolate. Right up there with hazelnut coffee. Nutella practically sends me into a coma of ecstasy, I eat it straight out of the jar.  
' And I got an internet recipe for satay chicken which I wanna try.' I said, showing him my packet of microwave rice, a jar of peanut butter, a packet of chicken thighs and some spices I had been very surprised to find were in our cupboard at home and still good. Both of these facts were unlikely at best, put together it was near-miraculous.  
' You want my help?' Marshall-lee questioned, reaching for the peanut butter. I pulled it in to my chest and turned away from him slightly.  
' No, I wanna do it. Besides, you were busy covering that song. Go back to shaking your ass- sorry, _playing your guitar_.' I told him cheekily, putting the chicken down on the bench. Marshall dodged around me and started tickling my sides. I spasmed and immediately tried to get him to stop, and he managed to grab the jar of peanut butter in the midst of the struggle.

' Yoink. I'm guessing you don't need the whole jar.' Marshall replied in a similar tone, opening it up and grabbing a teaspoon that had been languishing in the sink. I rolled my eyes at him as he ate a spoonful.  
' True class, Mar.'  
' Always, darling.' He retorted, eating another spoonful then throwing the jar back to me. I caught it and put it on the bench, turning away from him. Which proved to be a bad idea, as I jumped and yelped when he smacked my butt a moment later.  
' I'd rather you were shaking your ass. I like these jeans.' He murmured in my ear, giving me a peanut-buttery kiss on the cheek before prancing back off to his rec room laughing as I grumbled and wiped my face. I went into his fridge and searched in the vege draw for some onions, then mentally rolled up my sleeves (I was wearing a lace-edged singlet with a blue knitted button up vest over the top, so no actual sleeves were avaliable.) and literally tied back my hair.  
Let's _do_ this.

**Oh and by the way, there is a shitload of foreshadowing in this chapter as to the rest of the story**. **I'll just let that sink in, then I'll be waiting for you in the next chapter after you've finished re-reading this one to figure out exactly what it is xD**

-WRA


	2. Chapter 2- Curiosity Killed Your Dignity

I listened to the recording over again, editing the volume of the bass line. The song was average, in my musically cultured opinion, but it was the most liked one on my Facebook page so I was obliged to cover it. I'd tried to do a little fanservice (not like that, jeez) by posting three popular songs on my page and asking everyone to like which one they wanted me to cover. I was collecting more and more followers every day, and it's been great to see how much my profile is growing. Might not even need a label in the end. Or if I do, they'll be the ones calling me.

There was an issue with the bridge. Y'know, the Christina Aguilera bit where she's telling Adam Levine exactly how she likes it. I hadn't recorded it (Too high and sort of overly elaborate), and filled in with a guitar instrumental mimicking her notes. It didn't sound right though. You needed the female voice to complete the song. It only worked as a duet.  
I sighed and pulled my headphone down around my neck, leaning back in my chair. I don't know any female singers, and I ain't trying to pull myself into a duo or end up being one of those crappy artists who only ever features. I'd been solo from the very start and I intended to stay that way for a while.  
Well, musically at least.

I could smell the spices from whatever Fionna was cooking wafting into the room, and it actually smelt pretty damn good. Baby girl practically lived on cup ramen before she met me, and I've been doing my best to help her appreciate a finer palate.  
I went through a stage when I was younger where I wouldn't eat anything that wasn't red. It fucked my mom off so much, so it lasted a lot longer than it otherwise would've if she hadn't cared. But when I finally got bored with that, holy shit. I fell in love with food. It's sort of miraculous I don't weigh as much as small horse with all the junk I consume.

I got up and trotted casually over to the door, stretching my arms at the same time. I could see her standing at the stove, quickly stirring something. Her gorgeous blonde hair was tied back into a messy bun, strands falling out in some places.  
I just stood and watched her for a moment. She looked fantastic whatever she put on, because she has a nice little framework under those clothes, but I've always been particularly partial to that one pair of jeans. Calves, thighs, ass, the whole lot. Showed her off to perfection. It's a kind of a shame I've never gotten to see all of the aforementioned framework sans clothing (just the top half, and it was a beautiful sight), but it isn't like I haven't had my hands all over her anyways. She'll let me in when she's ready. I just... don't want to wait forever.

As I watched her, I noticed that she was humming under her breath. I couldn't quite make out what she was singing, but I wanted to. She'd never sung in front of me, although I've tried to coax her into it a couple of times. I was sure, just from that slight rasp in her voice when she talked and her addictive, sexy laughter that she'd sound like the lovechild of Pink and Amy Winehouse if she did sing. But she always told me that I was the singer, and she just liked to listen. That or she'd do something distracting, manipulative little minx.

' _I don't even try to control you_  
_Look into my eyes and I'll own you_  
_With the moves.. Hmm-Hm hm,_  
_I got the Moves Like Jagger,_  
_I got the la-la-la-la-la da-da da da da...'_

Hey, she wasn't bad. Obviously she wasn't trying very hard right now, but she sounded pretty good from where I was standing, moving her hips from side to side. And she was criticizing me for shaking my ass. Though I'm definitely not complaining. Woo.  
' What's cookin', good lookin'?' I asked her casually, and she jumped. She obviously hadn't heard me coming up behind her. Apparently being sneaky is something of a talent (talent?) of mine. My old bandmates used to complain I was so silent it was like I was invisible, completely at odds with my voice.  
' Jeez, Marshall! Way to scare the crap outta me.' She scowled, absentmindedly patting her chest once before going back to stirring. ' And also, really? You're such a cheeseball.'  
' Excuse me? Cute, cheeseball, you come up with the worst adjectives. Why not try, I don't know, sexy, or charming, or 'Oh Marshall-lee, take me now!'  
The look I got from her in reply to that told me exactly how likely it was she'd ever say those things about/to me. A man can only dream.  
' You're a dork. Say ah.'  
' Wha?'  
' Not wha. Ah.' She told me, holding up the wooden spoon she was using to stir the sauce on the stove. She had her other hand cupped underneath it, wary of any drips. I opened my mouth and she watched my face expectantly, waiting to see if I liked what she had made.

' It's gross.' The shock on her face made me laugh and I raised a hand in apology when she hit me on the back of the head as payback.  
' Nah, it's pretty good. Can we eat it now?' She sniffed at me, still annoyed that she had fallen for the joke.  
' No, it needs to reduce. And the rice needs to cook too.' I pouted at her.  
' But I'm hungry!'  
' Shame, you have to wait.' She told me with a hint of faux-contempt, sweeping away from me and putting the rice in the microwave with such an air of grandiosity that I started laughing again. She joined in good naturedly for a moment then ran herself a glass of water. I leaned on the edge of the bench, waiting for her to finish swallowing.  
' So, I heard you singing my song.' She eyed me suspiciously, folding one arm around her tummy and tilting the glass towards me accusingly.  
' That's not your song, it's... Maroon 5's.' I shrugged as she took another sip of water.  
' True, but beside the point. You really ain't terrible, Fi. So how come you've never sung for me before?' She looked down into her glass, which was now nearly empty, then tipped it out into the sink and put it on the windowsill above it. It always kind of bugged me when she did that, because I always leave it in the sink, but it's such a minor annoyance that I'd never say anything 'cause that'd just be petty.  
' Mar, I've said it countless times, you're the singer. I can't compare.' I crossed the few steps between us and put my hands on her hips, looking down at her. I fucking love that I'm so much taller than her, what with her being the older one.  
' Bunny, of course you can't compare. Opposite sexes, my voice is totally different than yours. Have some confidence.' She looked away from me.  
' Just.. eeehhh. No. Singing isn't my thing.'  
' I disagree.'  
' You've only heard once.'  
' Still disagree.'  
' Stubborn.'  
' I prefer tenacious.' She rolled her eyes at me and I took the opportunity to kiss her again.  
She was no master, but she took well to being led. Again, something I didn't mind, and actually kinda liked. Sure, an experienced girl can be great fun, but you've also got that moment where you have to wonder how many other guy's tongues have been in her mouth. Bunny hadn't told me exactly how innocent she was, but she can't have done much judging by how she learned from me rather than the other way around. Either she was something of a natural and I was first (*fistpump*) or she'd been with a couple of guys and she was just getting used to the way I like it. I don't really care either way, though.

' Mm.. go away. I'm busy, I wanna get this right.' She told me, pushing me away from her. I managed to sneak a couple more kisses before she got me off, batting at me. The microwave beeped as I walked over to the fridge and retrieved two bottles of ice cold alcohol.  
' Rice is done. And don't worry babe, I have complete faith in your culinary skills.'  
' I'm not sure if that was sarcasm, but if it was I'll spank you into next week with a wooden spoon.'  
' I'd be okay with that.' She pulled a face at me as she got the rice out of the microwave.  
' Haha. Kinky.'  
' I'm totally serious.'  
' Yeah, right.' She shook her head at me as she brought two steaming hot bowls of food over to the couch. I traded her one of the bowls for a beer and waited while she went back for cutlery. When she got back, she plopped down onto her pile of cushions on the sofa and handed me the bottle opener, before using a knife to open her own.  
' How do you do that?' I asked, watching her. That was a pretty badass way to pop open a cold one. Imagine if you just whipped out a massive hunting knife in a bar and everyone was like 'Oh shit' and then you just casually opened your drink like a fucking mercenary. Instant street cred. Fionna shrugged as she took a drink, shifting on her pillow pile.  
' Eh, my foster dad was pretty cool, he showed me.'

* * *

' There's nothing good on tonight. Just nuclear fallout and catastrophes and depressing bullshit.' I complained, channel surfing once I'd established that there weren't any shows Fi wanted to watch. Her satay whatever had been pretty good. Both bowls were now piled up empty on the side table, along with the first bottles of beer. I was about halfway through my second, with which I had tried and failed to open using Fionna's knife trick. It was a lot harder than it looked. She had snuggled into my side, as per usual, and now looked up at me from next to my armpit.  
' Okay... So what? I thought you didn't mind crappy T.V.'  
' Most nights, it's nice to have a little background but this is just all too sad. Like jeez. ' I felt one of her hands move onto my stomach and she shifted slightly higher up on me.  
' So what do you think we should do instead, hm?' She whispered sexily, before kissing the side of my neck. Tempting. But that could wait, she wouldn't have to leave for another hour and a half. Plenty of time.

' You make an interesting proposition, babe. But actually, I wanna hear you sing.' She groaned and pushed off of me, before collapsing dramatically onto the arm of the sofa and throwing me a glare.  
' Ugh, really Mar? Now you're turning down tail because you want to hear my crappy singing?'  
Wait, what?  
' Hold up, what exactly are you offering?'  
' No! Not- That isn't what I meant.' She quickly corrected herself, blushing bright red. So _cute_. I mean, sad face and all that, but she made it so hard to be disappointed when she looked so precious.  
' Well then, yes. I've kissed you many times, not that I don't appreciate it. On the other hand, I've heard you sing once, and you weren't even trying.' I moved out of my seat and leaned over her where she was still sprawled on top of the arm rest, supporting myself with one hand by her waist.  
' C'mon doll. It's all I'm askin' for. I can play along with you if you want, or you can go look through my iPod. I'll even do you a trade. Say yes. Go on, y'know you will eventually.' She looked up at me for a few moments, judging the sincerity of the request. Curiosity killed the cat is a phrase I never took to heart. I really wanted to know.

'... Fine. If you'll shut up about it.' She groaned after a few moments, tugging one of her pillows out from underneath her and whacking me in the side of the head. I grinned at her then kissed her nose.  
' That's my girl.'  
' But I want the trade.'  
' Whatever you want. I'm at your mercy.' She picked up on the innuendo but didn't react beyond rolling her eyes, before she slid out from underneath me and onto her knees next to the sofa. She was pretty damn athletic, something I'd figured out from how she moved and how she looked. She admitted that she liked to run sometimes and that she and Cake walked around a lot. Beyond that, I have to assume that she was just naturally flexible too.  
I'm so damn lucky.  
' So what're you gonna sing?' I asked, probably slightly obnoxiously as I leaned over the back of the couch on my front, hands hanging down. But she was walking away by then, so she didn't really notice.  
' I don't know, I'll look in your iPod. You know I actually never have?' She said, going over to where it was jacked into the speaker system next to my old guitars.  
' I haven't looked in yours.'  
' Yeah, I know.' Then she sighed as she started flicking through the list. 'This is stupid.'  
' No it's not.'  
' It is.'  
' Isn't.'  
' Don't do that.'  
' I'm not doing anything.'  
' Marshall!' She threw another look at me, glancing up from the iPod for a second. I rolled onto my back and tipped my head down, showing her exactly how bored I was. She still looked hot upside down though.  
' Well, then get that fine ass of yours moving. I'm impatient.' Suddenly she stopped and smiled at the iPod, before looking up at me.

'Fine, I'll sing for you, but in trade you have to dance and sing with me.' I frowned at her. I can't dance. I can do many things, I have a sense of rhythm but I'm not the guy busting moves that reels in the women. Dancing doesn't come naturally to me.  
'.. Can you pick something else? For the sake of my dignity? I want you to think I'm cool for a least another week.'  
' No dice, I already know you're secretly a dork. Dance or I'm not singing.' I sighed and stood up, mentally cringing at the fact I was actually agreeing to this. I hope this woman appreciates what I do for her sake.  
' Can I ask what brought this on?' Fionna beamed at me and then pressed play on her song. As soon as it started, I immediately understood exactly why this had clicked for her and I couldn't stop myself from grinning. This girl had _the_ best sense of humour.

**Author's note: Prepare for massive amounts of cuddly cotton-candy fluff, 'cause it's coming down in droves in the next chapter. Seriously, you might wanna find a teddy bear or something to ward off the cuteness.  
Oh, and I'll be linking the song she picked in the next chapter, and I highly recommend you listen to it on repeat while reading. The whole thing just comes right together. See you then, bunnies :3  
**

** -WRA**


	3. Chapter 3-Let's Have Some Fun

I stuck my tongue out between my teeth at Mar as he put one hand on his hip and covered his face with the other, shaking his head. This was the best payoff. He'd mentioned once, in passing, that he didn't dance, but I hadn't pushed it. See, this is what happens to you if you offer trades without boundaries. There are consequences. If he hadn't figured that I would pull a stunt like this, then he definitely hadn't thought this through. Which I was pretty happy about. This would be interesting.  
' Come on, Marshall-lee. Let's see if you can match Josh's deep voice. I've heard you go high, but how low can you go?' I asked playfully, before, tugging him up onto the small wooden platform where I was currently situated. Marshall's living room was divided into two heights, with the sofa and T.V being in the lower area and his guitars and the kitchen suite being on the higher one. The levels were joined by two wooden steps that spanned the length of the room.  
It was an odd design, and there really wasn't much space, but that didn't matter. It wasn't like either of us was gonna start breakdancing.

' You wound me, ma'am. Of course I can match it. But you've gotta sing too.'  
' Okay, but you take next verse. Now dance for me, pretty boy.' I told him, just before it started. Marshall tried to act like he was now the one who thought this was stupid, but the corners or his lips disagreed with that. I tried to encourage him into moving by bumping him with my hip, and giving him a good glimpse of my jeans.  
To be perfectly honest, I'm not much of a dancer either. But it's easier when you're a girl, I think. You just shake your butt a little and no-one cares how good a dancer you are, all they're thinking is A.S.S. No such fall back for guys, though.

_'Baby why don't we just turn that TV off?_  
_Three hundred fifteen channels_  
_Of nothing but bad news on'_

Marshall's dancing started off pretty much non-existent, and I could tell how self-conscious he felt about the whole thing. It was kind of unusual (and cute), seeing as he was normally such a confident performer. But my singing was pretty reserved too, because I really don't think I'm that good, and because I was singing an octave up it wasn't hard to hear me over the music. However, I'd rather this were funny instead of awkward.  
So I just threw myself into the next part of the verse, grabbing one of the empty beer bottles off of the side table and holding it upside down like a green glass microphone. I amped up the whole country swagger and gave Marshall what was most likely an incredible creepy eyebrow movement to go along with it and he started laughing, copying me. We probably both looked like idiots but really, that was the point.

_'Well, it might be me, but the way I see it_  
_The whole wide world has gone crazy_  
_So baby, why don't we just dance?'_

I swayed my hips and did a little sidestep over to Marshall, handing him the beer bottle. He accepted it and then planted himself in a wide stance, pointing at me with one hand as he held the bottle up to his face with the other and gave me an over-exaggerated smouldering stare. I laughed and then fanned myself dramatically, acted as if I was about to faint from how incredibly attractive he looked. However, I couldn't keep it up when he flicked his hair around and made a duck face a few seconds later, then started doing a jazz hand as he sung. Oh god.

_'Guess the little bitty living room ain't gonna look like much_  
_When the lights go down and we move the couch-'_

I whooped in between giggles, my dancing becoming more and more erratic. He really could go that low. Impressive. And kinda hot, really. Made him sound all gruff and manly. Hehe.  
Marshall chucked the beer bottle away onto the sofa and grabbed my hand, tugging me into him and pulling us both into what was probably the worst parody of a tango I had ever experienced. He nearly stepped on my foot and my dodging that caused us to overbalance, which only made keeping up with the beat even harder as he tried to correct and I tried to stop laughing and falling on him. It was great.

_'-It's gonna be more than enough_  
_For my two left feet and our two hearts beatin'_  
_Nobody's gonna see us go crazy_  
_So baby, why don't we just dance?'_

We both kept singing for the next bit, Marshall-lee spinning me around then proceeding to do some of the cheesiest dance moves that ever existed. He wasn't lying when he said he was no natural dancer but God, it was so sweet to watch him cut loose. He could've been an extra in Grease. I knew he was hamming it up somewhat, but neither of us were taking this seriously. I was barely managing to stay standing. Both of us were doing our best to do the worst possible, and it was hilarious.

_'Down the hall, maybe straight up the stairs_  
_Bouncin' off the wall, floatin' on air_  
_Baby, why don't we just dance?'_

Marshall tipped his head down, holding the brim of an invisible hat and finished off by doing a Michael Jackson-esque crotch grab. That was pretty much the end of what little of my self control remained. After that, I was too busy clutching my aching stomach muscles and laughing to notice Marshall going over to the iPod and turning down the volume slightly. But I had recovered by the time he came up behind me and put his arms around my waist, pressing his lips into the side of my neck for a second and swaying us slightly from side to side. I was still smiling, but now it wasn't just being goofy, it was having fun. I was happy with him, in that moment. I felt safe, in more ways then one.  
Maybe tonight was the night I'd agree to stay.

_'Baby, why don't you go put your best dress on?'_

He had turned the music down low enough that I could clearly hear his voice in my ear, and it sent pleasant warm shivers down my spine as he rocked me. His stubble was rough against my skin and his breath was hot and it smelt vaguely alcoholic. I didn't really care, though maybe that was just my own reasonable dosage of booze talking. I suspect we were both a little tipsy, or else I never would've had the guts to suggest this in the first place.

_'Those high heeled shoes you love to lose_  
_As soon as the tunes come on'_

He turned me around and put one hand back on my waist, the other in a loose fist on the small of my back. I smiled at him and wound my arms around his neck, stepping in closer to him as he kept singing. I really do love listening to him sing. It's magical.  
I realised he must've picked up the remote for the stereo because the music became even quieter a few seconds later, becoming more of a backing track for his soft lyrical words then a tune he was singing along with. Smooth.

_'On second thought, just the way you are_  
_Is already drivin' me crazy_  
_So baby, why don't we just dance?'_

Marshall-lee pressed his forehead against mine, looking at me silently for a few seconds as the song continued to play and we continued to sway.  
' Stay, Fi. Stay with me tonight.' I looked right back at him, thinking about it for a few moments. I was sorely tempted. I really liked this guy, and I honestly couldn't think of a better situation to account for losing my virginity. A slightly tipsy dancing/singing trade-off. It was so weird and spontaneous and unexpected, and I liked that. Marshall tended to be unexpected. I was learning that about him.  
There was never going to be an ideal time or place or situation. All of that prom night or wedding night or on the beach or whatever, it's all full of shit. Manufactured by Hollywood. Your first time should be because you want to, not because you feel you should, and because you actually like the person who's asking. And y'know, maybe being prepared for it to be a little awkward and uncomfortable isn't too much to ask either. By its very nature, sex was kind of awkward.  
All of that stuff about wanting to was true for me right now, and Marshall would take care of me, I had faith in that. Like he had told me when I found out about the song he wrote for me, he'd been looking for me for a while. He wouldn't jeopardize that then, so he wouldn't now.  
I trust him.

'... You should know I've never stayed the night before. With anyone.' Marshall didn't seem surprised by this, or if he was then he hid it pretty well.  
' I'll be gentle, promise. Just stay. Please.' I didn't say anything back, because I didn't feel like I needed to. He could feel my answer in the way I kissed him. I heard the remote for the stereo clatter onto the wooden floor a few moments later, then his hands were on the buttons of my waistcoat.  
Besides, it was damn cold out there. Night time had fallen, and with it so had the temperature. I'd be able to see my breath crystalise in front of me if I went out there now. If I wasn't uncomfortable with staying, then there was no reason for me to go.  
I sighed and obligingly moved my arms as he softly bit my neck and and pushed my waistcoat off, quickly getting up inside my singlet to work on my bra. His fingertips were rough on my shoulder blades, more so on his left hand then the right.  
Yep. No reason at all.

* * *

The next hour or so was a lot of things. It was confusing sometimes, and sometimes painful too. But it was also gentle and sweet and hot and very, very enjoyable. He knew what he was doing.  
Really, that's something I suppose I should ask him now. He knows I'm almost a complete novice, I want to know how much of one he isn't. I guess it doesn't really matter, but he held me so carefully, and listened when I told him I didn't like something or when I did. He didn't try to rush me, and he was patient, surprisingly so (particularly for him). Obviously, he's had enough practice with sex to know how to take it at a slow burn rather than a hot flash. He knows how to treat a girl gently. And on that point, I also know he doesn't break promises now.  
The only bad thing that I hadn't expected (first time hurts. Common knowledge, and it ain't an urban legend. Cake prepared me for that, thank god.) was totally my fault. I bit his shoulder so hard I drew blood. To his credit, he said absolutely nothing. I didn't find out until the next morning, when I woke up in a pile of twisted sheets and warm, sweet-smelling boyfriend.  
I have to say, it's a hell of a way to wake up.

I'd only been in his bedroom a couple of times, mostly to come kick him back outta bed on the weekends or because he wanted to show me something. It was a small, uncluttered room. The bed took up nearly all of it, leaving only enough space for a wardrobe cum chest of drawers and a bedside table. All of the usual stuff that fills up a bedroom was in his rec room. There was only one window, and it was on the opposite side of the sun rise. But I'm a pretty light sleeper, and not a long one either. So I found myself groggily self-aware with a rather dull sense of morning at around about seven thirty.  
For a minute, I had this surprisingly amazing feeling of not knowing which way was up or down and where I was relevant to anything else. Just floating through fabric with no thought beyond that, and it was great. Whirling around in a semi-conscious narcissistic void. Whee.

Eventually I was anchored by a sense of warmth that wasn't mine on my chest and between my lower thighs and calves. I finally found the motivation to open my eyes and figured out I was lying on my side, looking towards the window through which I could see orange and pink sunlight hitting the side of a skyscraper on the opposite side of the street. The glass shined like someone had clumsily poured molten gold onto it and missed everything that was in shadow.  
Mar was pressed up against me, his arms around me, his head between my boobs (typical) and one of his legs slipped between mine too. He was still fast asleep, and it looked like he was dreaming. His hair was even messier that usual. I don' t even wanna know what mine looked like.  
Marshall told me once that he talked in his sleep, and I was kinda tempted to just stay and watch him, see if he would say anything. I couldn't resist moving a curl of his black hair, watching his long dark eyelashes twitch as his eyes moved behind his eyelids, and guiltily ran a finger over the still scabbing marks on his shoulder. Oops.  
He looked beautiful asleep, with his curly hair and naive expression. It was like watching a 19-year-old cherub take a nap (another description he'd probably get mad at). But he could never carry that over to waking. He ruined any semblance of innocence the moment he opened his mouth.  
I could've stayed there for a lot longer.

But I needed to pee, so I slowly, slowly extricated myself from him and the bed covers so he wouldn't wake up and then looked around on the floor for my undies. I couldn't spot them though, and even though I suppose it didn't really matter I didn't wanna walk around naked. I'm not that confident in myself. I mean, I have no issues with my body but I'm not the kind who just goes around starkers.  
And my shirt was in the living room.  
Ugh.


	4. Chapter 4- Those Sexy, Sexy Poptarts

I love waking up knowing I got laid the night before. And it's even better when you don't have to guiltily sneak away because you're next to some random who's name you don't remember, or have that moment of disappointment when you realise the same had happened to you at your own place.  
But when I first woke up I wasn't quite ready to face consciousness, so I groaned reluctantly and tried to feel around for Fionna. Last time I checked, I had fallen asleep with her tits in my face, which remains the best possible way for a male to fall asleep from when he's in diapers to when he's a grown man. Though I couldn't feel anything near me, much less boobs or anything similarly awesome.  
So I buried my face in pillows and tried to drift back off, but the brutal absence of soft female at my side kept me awake. Not the physical fact that she wasn't there, just the fact I knew she wasn't. _Why_ wasn't she there? She wouldn't have left me without saying goodbye, especially not since last night had been her first time.

She had obviously had no clue what she was doing, which confirmed her innocence. So I'd tried to be as gentle as possible, because even though rough and hard can be fucking amazing (and that's how I prefer it) that would be way too much for a virgin.  
She's actually the first girl I've ever had who hadn't been with at least one other guy. I wasn't prepared for how sensitive and how nervous she was. Every move I made that she didn't understand would startle her, I could see it. She shivered when I did this, she trembled when I did that, constantly moving and reacting to absolutely everything. And the look on her face once I was in was completely priceless, in the most sincere and real sense possible. I could understand why virgins used to be worth like, a prize ox or whatever. The level of responsiveness and emotional feedback was incredible.  
Though when I was sleepily cuddling with her afterwards, I couldn't help the groggy 'Claimed...' that passed through my mind. I'm not one of those dickheads who wastes the first comment on Facebook by saying first, but I'm just saying it's a surprisingly great feeling to know that you are. Even if last night was completely the opposite of what I normally went after, it had still been pretty great probably in part due to that.  
The rest of it was due to the fact it was her. My mystery girl. Fionna.  
Speaking of mysteries, where the hell had she gone?

About five minutes after I thought that, I had finally somehow dredged up enough motivation to get up (ugh.) and put some pants on (double ugh.)(walking around naked _just because you can_ is the best thing about living alone.) So that I could go see what had happened to her. I was still half asleep, and that wasn't helped by the deep, kinda purr-y sense of satisfaction you get after having a damn good fuck the night before. It's like this smug, entitled little bastard of a cat sitting in your stomach and constantly reminding you how awesome he is, but instead of pissing you off, you realise holy shit, he's totally right.  
I checked the bathroom first, but she wasn't in there, and the mirror wasn't fogged so it didn't look like she'd taken a shower yet either. And seeing as there was no conceivable reason she'd be in my rec room, I moved straight out into the living room.  
Couch was clear.  
No-one by the windowall.  
Kitchen was-  
Oh my god.

So... I'll describe her for the sake of noting exactly why that particular image hit me like a subway train. She was standing up by the stove, her ankles loosely crossed as she leaned over it slightly and watched the toaster. Looked like she was making pop-tarts, but she could've been making goddamn Eggs Benedict and I wouldn't have given it a second thought.  
Her hair was still out (And let me take a moment to say I'm mesmerised by her hair. There's just so _much_ of it, in contrast with how small the rest of her is.) and it was messy in a good way, curling and waving and tangling down past her hips as she had pulled it around over one shoulder. All she appeared to be wearing from the back was a shirt, but that wasn't the best part.  
It was _my_ shirt.  
I don't think I can say this for everyone, but for me personally I find it weirdly gratifying when my girlfriend starts wearing my clothes. It's like she just has to keep a piece of me with her, or that she's so comfortable with me and everything that comes along with me, that she's okay with wearing something I've worn- even with all it's icky boy cooties.  
Seriously though, just seeing _my_ girl in _my_ clothes is like her acknowledging that groggy 'Claimed' and accepting it with enthusiasm. I just love it, simply because I'm a rather possessive S.O.B. Mine, don't you fuckin' touch it.  
And then of course, miles and miles of legs. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that before. She's all legs, which while it isn't my favourite part of the female body besides the obviously preferred ones, she worked it in a way that put all those pouty models to shame. She didn't even have to try to look like a perfume advertisement.  
All that picture needed to be page-spread ready was a manly man holding her and being held captive by her alluring scent.  
Which at the moment was probably mixed with pop-tarts, but whatever. Pop-tarts are totally sexy.

I felt her jump slightly when I suddenly appeared behind her and wound my arms around her waist, pressing my face into the side of her neck and kissing her. Keeping with the perfume advertisement allegory that for some reason wouldn't kick the can, I inhaled deeply as she relaxed and I felt her hands clasp over my forearms across her belly.  
' Mm... You smell like me. I like that.' I told her a few seconds later, surprised by how much morning-ness there was in my voice. I still wasn't exactly one hundred percent conscious, but when you are in that state you don't really know it.  
' Good morning to you too.' She replied. I could picture the look on her face right now, and smirked to myself when she let out a squeak as I bit her earlobe in payback.  
' Good morning indeed, Bunny-baby.' I whispered in her ear, releasing my arms slightly and holding her hips as I kissed her neck again. She turned around of her own accord a few seconds later, and brushed my bangs out of my eyes, then she kissed me for a few moments. Either she was too perfect to get morning breath (unlikely considering all the beer we drank last night) or she'd hit the listerine, because she didn't taste bad.  
I figured that I probably did when she broke off abruptly a few moments later.  
' You better not be planning to make puns all morning about breeding like rabbits.' She told me, in my favourite little one-liner way where I couldn't tell whether she was joking or not.  
' Course not. I don't make those kinda jokes about the easter bunny.' She seemed satisfied by this, and let me kiss her again. Guess I didn't taste bad either. Score.  
Surprisingly though, she didn't get suspicious when I put my mouth up to her ear.  
' Because honey, what we did definitely ain't Christian.'

I grinned at the expression on her face when I leaned back and started laughing when she hit my shoulder, blushing furiously.  
' You... Y... Don't even talk to me.' She huffed, turning away from me and bluntly snatching the poptarts from the toaster as it pinged. I was unrepentant. Innocence is such a versatile trait. in certain situations it can be alluring and beautiful, but in other ones such as this, it is the most hilarious thing ever. So fuckin' _cute!_  
' Aw, c'mon. Don't be sore, though I highly suspect you are.'  
' Marshall-lee!' She whined indignantly, her cheeks burning so hot I could feel it before I touched her face to get her to look at me again. She refused for a couple seconds, before finally giving me a glare that faded into curiosity when I laced the fingers of my other hand through hers.  
' ...Are you?' She hesitated, but I saw her eyebrows momentarily twitch together. Shit.  
' Baby, I'm sorry, I tried-'  
' No no, no no no, I'm fine! I'm fine.' She interrupted me, standing up on tiptoe to give me a very short, sweet kiss.  
' You sure?'  
' Yeah, I mean you gotta roll with the punches but you barely even grazed me. I'm okay.' Then I saw her eyes flicker away and she looked slightly guilty, then she turned back towards the bench and picked up her plate of food  
' I just uhm.. I'm probably the one who should say sorry. I didn't mean to do that.' She admitted sheepishly, unable to look me in the eye. What?  
' What're you talking about?' She blinked at me.  
' Your.. shoulder, you telling me you didn't notice that!?' She asked incredulously, walking over to my couch and putting down her poptarts before padding back to me. While she did that, I inspected my shoulders and discovered a set of bitemarks on the left side. Neat.  
' Oh. Huh, no I didn't notice that.' Fionna scrunched up her face in distaste as I pushed into the wound with my middle finger and then winced.  
' Ow. Ooh, you got a sharp little bite there, Bunny. I'm gonna have a bruise by tonight.'  
' I'm sorry, it- Well, uh-'  
' I've had worse Fionna, don't worry about it. Like I said, didn't even notice. Can I have one of those?' I picked up one of the pop-tarts, not waiting for her reply. She didn't need to worry about something as tiny as that. She hadn't scratched up my back and that's happened before.

' So you've had worse?' She asked after a moment, sitting on one of the arms of the couch. I walked past her and put my hand on her knee for a second, then sat down behind her.  
' Yeah. A lot worse. It's just that the scars don't show 'cause I'm so bloody pale.' She didn't say anything as I turned on the TV and started channel-surfing, taking another bite of pop-tart. I really wish there was more icing on these things.  
' Like what?'  
' Well there was one girl who bit me, like you, but it was about four or five times in the same area, and that hurt. Pyscho chick bit my nipple, and you can actually see the scar-' I pointed to it, and Fionna shifted on the arm and leaned in, inspecting me curiously.  
' - And then lots of girls scratch your back up. And I got handprint bruises from someone who held on too tight a while ago, but that was't that bad either I guess.' Fionna didn't say anything for a little bit, but I didn't really think about how this must sound to her. After I'd settled on a channel I glanced at her and noticed she was chewing on her lip. She does that when she's thinking.

' Why do you wanna know?' She snapped out of her head and blinked at me, then shook her head, flashing me a smile that was obviously fake.  
' No reason.' She lied brightly, picking up her pop tart and looking away from me. Um.  
' Babe?' Fionna shrugged, focusing intently on the TV as she took a bite.  
' It's nothing, seriously.' I picked up the remote and turned off the TV. Bullshit, it's never nothing. How many times have I heard that before?  
' Fionna, c'mon. I don't do passive-agressive, if you've got an issue about something then tell me, I can handle.'  
Last night, finally... what the hell went wrong in the following hours we were both asleep? God. _Dammit._  
Fionna sighed and took another bite of poptart, shooting me a look. I waited impassively. I really don't do passive-agressive, I prefer to just slug it out then have hot make-up sex afterwards. The issues that get brushed aside tend to sort of pile up into a shitload of problems that aren't dealt with because they're not front and center. Like dishes that pile up in the sink 'cause no-one wants to do them. It's easier to clean them before they stack up.

' What number am I?' She said bluntly, after eating the rest of her poptart. I frowned at her as she licked the icing off her fingers, rather too casually.  
' Huh?'  
' What number am I?' She repeated, this time without the hint of animosity. Fionna didn't really go looking for fights per say, but because of how she talked it was easy to misunderstand her meaning. So she was pretty good at starting them. And I'm pretty easy to fire up, but I've gotten used to her so I can tell when she's actually mad.  
' Again, huh? Do you mean how many women have I dated, or how many have I slept with?' She kept her eyes on me for one more second then averted them, a little bit of colour bleeding into her cheeks as she knotted her fingers together.  
' The second one.'  
' I... Hm. This is gonna make me look bad. Including you, seventeen.' Her eyebrows shot way up and she glanced over at me. Big, _big_ blue eyes.  
' Hold up a sec. Mar, you're nineteen, you've been legal for just two years, nearly three. That's nearly six girls a year.' My first reaction was to say Yeah, so? but that was just shooting myself in the foot. Second was What can I say, the ladies love this but that was shooting myself in the crotch. And I also definitely would not correct her on the assumption that I had waited till I was legal.  
Don't you judge me. Opportunities. I take them.  
' I told you it'd make me sound bad. But, I've only dated five, including you, and that's going all the way back to when I was fourteen. All the others were one night stands or y'know, whenever we met up we would get together then be on our merry ways.' Fionna stayed silent through this explanation.  
'Actually, I'm not sure whether that puts me in a better light or not. I guess I'd prefer you think I'm a slut to thinking I fall in love a lot, 'cause I don't.' Fionna laughed once and my internal diplomat promptly collapsed and died, resuming his normal state of affairs. Crisis averted. Temporarily. I had that Simpsons line running through my head: You smiled, I'm off the hook!  
' I ain't denying you're a slut Mar, because you said it first.'  
' Ouch.'  
' Roll with the punches.'

I sank deeper back into the couch, still not really quite caught up with where her head was at. Why did this matter to her? I hadn't been with anyone sexually for about two weeks before I first met her, and my GP hasn't mentioned anything that would affect her.  
' Babe, why? What're you thinking?' I saw her blush again and she started twisting her fingers. She didn't like creating problems, she liked fixing them. So I guess it wasn't surprising she found it hard to tell me what she had taken issue with exactly.  
' I.. Well, I was a virgin and you're... Not. You know what you want and what you like and all that, but I haven't got a clue.' She sighed. Even what she had just said sounded stilted, but I could tell that was just a warm up confession. Here we go...  
' But also, just... It's like, you've had so much experience that as a part of the whole-' She took a deep breath.'- I... I must not be... How you felt about last night with me would be different to how I feel about it. You've been there so many times. Meh, it happened. But I'm- It's more-'  
'... More than that?' She nodded slowly, avoiding my eyes. Oh wow. Uh. For some reason that seemed vaguely insulting. She didn't really think I'd been around the block so many times that I didn't appreciate what it could mean?  
' Fionna, what do you think it means to me?' She glanced at me with a slight hint of nervousness then shrugged, picking at the stitching on the arm of the couch with her fingernail.  
' Baby, there's a big difference between hooking up with somebody and making love.' She screwed up her face when I said that.  
' I don't like that phrase. Making love. it sounds so.. eugh.' She cringed, and her shoulders shivered. I laughed once.  
' Well get over it, 'cause that's what I'm calling last night. It might be the same act, but the motivations and reasons couldn't be further apart. When you pick someone up, it's entirely selfish. You don't care who they are. But you're not some anonymous pretty girl, babe. I like you. I really do. Which is why it was a first for me too, because it was my first with you. It means a lot more than simply 'it happened." Fionna didn't say anything, didn't even look up and in that space of time, I decided to throw everything out. Why the hell not, let's see what happens.  
' And honestly, it could very well be my last first time, babe. 'Cause y'know, I think I might just fall in love with you.'

**Author's note: Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.  
I love writing cute Marshall.** **Because he always ruins it, but the moment before that is just excellent. Can you picture Fionna's face right now? Can you? it's priceless xD** **As always, review and tell me what you think, bunnies. I love hearing from you :3  
Ciao!**

** -WRA**


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